


Striketober - 2020

by meansovermotive



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Angst, Banter, Best agency in London, Cormoran Strike's Birthday, Cormoran Strike's Competency Kink, F/M, First Kiss, Friendship, Inspired by Music, Robin Ellacott and Cormoran Strike's Champagne at the Ritz, Romance, Strike changing numbers, just realized I never did so here it is in order, will update tags as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:28:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26763601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meansovermotive/pseuds/meansovermotive
Summary: Here's my attempt! Loved the prompts :)Will post them as chapters. Unsure about number or length, though.Spoilers for Troubled Blood.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 84
Kudos: 101
Collections: Striketober | Cormoran Strike Fictober 2020





	1. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> Never done one of these before, but since I've been writing more lately, and the prompts were so good...here is an attempt!  
> No idea how many of these I'll be able to do nor about their length, but hope you enjoy it!  
> (But at least the first one is way shorter than my other works, which is something! And hey- less angst, yay!)
> 
> Edit: I also realize now that the idea was probably to follow the prompt order? *facepalm I see that's what most people are doing but I read there about choosing a few if you want? a bit confused now...

“What did you want to talk to me about?” asked Robin, taking a seat at her desk next to Strike’s.

“Huh?” asked Strike, confused for a moment. “Ah”, he continued shortly, passing her a piece of paper with numbers scribbled in his pointy handwriting, “here-- my new phone number” he said.

Robin frowned.

“You’re changing your number?” she asked.

“Yeah”, he said laconically, turning back to work.

Robin narrowed her eyes at his lack of explanation.

“Are you changing phone plans? Because I told you, you should really get a business plan for yourself and the agency, it would actually be cheaper—“

“No, I’m not changing plans” Strike cut her.

Robin’s frown deepened.

“Then why are you changing your number? You weren’t defrauded or something?” she asked, suddenly worried.

Sensing she wouldn’t drop it, Strike said,

“No, don’t worry, nothing like that. Just, uh, decided to change it. Too many people have it” he said, shrugging.

Robin raised one eyebrow.

“I thought that was a good thing?”

“That depends”, he said, “on which people”, he concluded, suggesting an air of finality to the conversation, and turned again to the papers in his desk.

Robin stared at him, her arms crossed.

“Well?” she asked pointedly.

“What?”, Strike responded, annoyed, turning back at her.

She rolled her eyes.

“Won't you tell me who _are_ all these people who suddenly have your number, Strike?" she asked playfully. "Wait", she added in a worried note, the thought occurring to her, "did someone leak it to journalists? Because if so you really should tell me, we should look into who did it—“

Strike sighed, giving up. Chastising himself for not having come up with an explanation previously, he said,

“No, it's nothing like that. It’s actually, just, uh… Charlotte.” he said, not looking at her.

“Oh”, Robin said quietly. That single piece of information for her, who had been so desperate to shed some light on what exactly were, now, the feelings of her partner about his ex fiancée, seemed monumental. The sudden lift in her spirits that it had caused was quickly replaced with worry, however, as she said,

“Oh, Cormoran, I’m so sorry -- I didn’t mean to pry-- I really just thought it had something to do with the agency…”

Strike waved his hand as to dismiss her worries.

“No worries, Robin, I know. I, uh… I should actually have just been upfront about it. You know… trying that talking thing you were telling me about.” he said, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

At that Robin smiled, too, relieved and touched with his effort.

“Yeah", she said, "That one’s a game changer, they say”.

They looked at each other for a moment, Robin’s mind still processing the information.

“Since we’re trying that, Cormoran”, she added slowly, “and I mean, if you don’t want to, you know I won’t mind at all—but if you really want to try it…” she paused, looking at him, and when he gave no sign to indicate he didn't, she continued, “She’s had your phone number all this time?”

Strike let out a breath.

“Yeah”, he said, in a quiet voice.

“And she… used it?”

“Ocasionally”, he admitted.

Robin looked at him for a moment.

“So… why now, Cormoran? What’s changed?” she asked quietly.

Strike pondered for a moment, looking at her.

“I suppose, Robin…” he then said, his eyes searching hers, “...a lot. A lot’s changed.”

They stared at each other for a moment, the air thick, before Strike got up and, this time with a concluding tone that seemed harder to ignore, he asked:

“Tea?”

Robin, whose heart was still racing, simply nodded. As soon as Strike was out of sight, however, she broke into a hopeful smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the reason for my bet that Strike changing numbers may be relevant in the future:  
> Currently, as I see it, we have Strike wondering that maaybe Robin might have feelings for him, and an indication that he may be willing to try something.  
> Robin, however, seems much more worried about whether Strike still has feelings for Charlotte.  
> Him changing numbers is something practical that definitely won't pass unnoticed, and that unless Cormoran comes up with a good excuse about, might clarify somethings for Robin about where he's at. :)
> 
> Oh also, I've no clue how phone plans work in England.


	2. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This takes place, of course, on Robin's birthday at the end of Troubled Blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to who helped me figure how this works!  
> Out of order it is, then!

The champagne had already arrived at their table, and yet Robin couldn’t quite get over the feeling of incredulity that filled her.

Strike was studying her intently, a smile in the corner of his lips like he had a private joke.

“You’ve got a weird expression going there”, he said, cocking one eyebrow at her.

“Do I?” she asked, laughing nervously. “Yeah, I suppose I must have. It’s just… I’m still surprised with all of this, is all” she said, smiling shyly.

Strike’s smile grew wider at the thought of having surprised her.

“Well, isn’t this what you wanted?” he asked playfully.

Robin hesitated, frowning just slightly, and said,

“Well, I mean…” she started.

Strike’s face fell. _Shit,_ he thought. Was he misreading the situation entirely?

"Christ, Robin – is it too much? You don’t like it?” he asked, a bit anxiously.

Robin rushed to correct him.

“No, Cormoran, I- I love, really. It’s, honestly…” she paused, wordless. “It’s amazing. I really love everything you did tonight, I mean it” she said, reassuring him, and he let out a breath. “What I actually mean is…” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “I just don’t want you to think that I was expecting or demanding something like _this_ , when I brought up the whole flowers thing. I _really_ wasn’t. I mean, I _was_ sick of them, I admit, but after all, I only got you a couple of dvds for Christmas, it’s nothing to write home about, either. Whereas _this_ …” she looked away from him at their surroundings.

Strike, who was shaking his head, laughed heartily.

“You’re nuts, Ellacott”, he said. “That ‘ _couple of dvds_ ’ that you dismiss so casually were the _only_ thing that go me through a nightmare of a Christmas”. He arched an eyebrow and, raising his glass like he was toasting, continued, “ _Everything_ you do is something to write home about”, before taking a sip.

Robin took a sip as well, choosing to hide her blushing cheeks behind her glass.

“Also”, continued Strike, “I know you didn’t expect, neither demand, anything. I know you’d never. Like I said, I had a lot of time to compensate for” he said, and grinned. “I will admit it’s good to know I can still surprise you, though”.

“ _Oh, that you can_ ” Robin agreed emphatically, relieved that he hadn’t misunderstood her. “I might have doubted before, but you’ve definitely earned that tonight” she said, smiling.

They looked at each other for a moment, before she continued, slowly,

“Speaking of which…” she paused, studying his eyes, and then asked quietly, “Cormoran, am I… am I really your best friend?”

Strike’s eyebrows shot up.

“’f course, Robin. I told you, and I absolutely mean it”. He said emphatically, before continuing in a quieter voice, “You occupy a role in my life that… no one else does, to be honest”. Then he paused, considering her words and frowned. “Did I surprise you that day, as well?”

Robin, who currently felt like she was floating inside a hot air balloon that for some reason had lost gravity, tried to compose herself enough to respond.

“You did, actually…” she said slowly, and paused, thinking. “You know, it’s funny… I had a pretty miserable Christmas, too, as you know, and… It occurred to me then how you were actually my best friend, as well” she said, staring at him, before looking away. “But I thought… for some reason I thought there was no way I could imagine myself telling you that.” She looked at him again. “And then… then _you_ actually did it.” Her voice and eyes were serious for a moment. “So, yeah”, she continued, breaking in a grin, “I guess you still have a couple of tricks up your sleeve, Cormoran Strike.”

Strike, who had been listening with a mix of fondness, pride that she felt that way about him, and remorse over her fear of sharing these feelings that so happy had made him, had again the sudden urge to share the overwhelming amount of things filling his heart. After a moment’s hesitation, and feeling as daring as he that night, he carefully reached for her hand and, placing his own gently on top of hers, said in a low voice,

“That communication thing you were mentioning, Robin, I… I realize it’s a two way street. And that I don’t always keep it open. I want to say I’m sorry about that, and… to let you know that I did hear you that day. You’re right. I’ll… try my best. Promise.” he concluded in a serious tone.

Robin felt tears prickling at the corner of her eyes, aware of the irony that her words, at that precise moment, seemed to fault her. Before she had a chance to speak, however, Strike, removing his hand from hers to reach again for his glass, added, grinning:

“Dunno if I’ll ever not be shit at it, though”.

Robin, who at last had a response to that, smiled.

“Well, Cormoran”, she said, arching an eyebrow, her voice playful but filled with the fondness and happiness she now felt, “judging by tonight, I just might bet you will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess that promise for better communication in TB stuck with me, here it is again :)


	3. "Is it working?" + "Don't flatter yourself".

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one actually has two prompts!

Strike and Robin were working in silence in a warm afternoon when they heard the knock in the door of the inner office.

“Yes, Pat?” Robin asked the office manager, who was standing in the open door. Strike barely looked up.

“I’m about to go, but could you check the rota for next week, first, Robin? There’s somethings I wanted to confirm.”

“Sure”, Robin said, standing and going to the other room, not bothering to close the door.

After Robin confirmed that everything was right with Pat’s spreadsheet, she asked, remembering:

“Oh, and did you send the invoice to that client, yesterday? Account closed?”

Pat grinned slowly before speaking in a suggestive tone:

“Mr. Abbott? Yes, everything alright. He was _very_ satisfied with the services” she said, a glint in her eyes.

Robin narrowed hers, suspicious.

“Okay… and what’s with that face you’re making?” she arched her eyebrow.

“Well, _since_ _you asked…_ ” said Pat, before ostensibly dropping to a whisper that wasn’t actually any lower than her normal voice, “I think he’s quite keen on you, that one” she said, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh”, responded Robin. “You think, really” she said noncommittally. Despite the results of Robin’s interactions with Morris, the manager hasn’t yet given up on her efforts to meddle in Robin’s romantic prospects.

“Ah, that for sure, love. But he was subtle about it, you know, _classy_. And he is _so_ handsome, don’t you think?”

Robin swallowed.

“Yes, uh, I suppose he has a certain appeal”, she said, since it was indeed hard to argue that it wasn’t the case. Pat glowed.

“Oh, see! And he is _so_ impressed with you – the whole conversation was _Ms. Ellacott this, Ms. Ellacott that…_ Why don’t you give this one a chance, huh, darling?”

“Uhm…” Robin said, unsure.

Pat shaked her head, sighing.

“Come on, now. You know _this_ one actually looks quite decent, besides being a charmer. What do you have to lose, anyway?” she asked, raising her eyebrows at Robin. “I know, I know”, Pat continued, raising from her chair, “I keep meddling. Let’s make a deal – you promise you’ll think about this one, and I give you a bit of a break.”

Robin paused for a moment.

“Okay”, she conceded. “I promise I’ll think about it”, she added, smiling.

Appearing quite pleased with herself, Pat gave her goodbyes and left for the weekend.

Robin went to put on the kettle for a last cup of tea before leaving herself. Her back to the door, she only noticed Strike’s presence when he cleared his throat.

She turned and saw that he was resting his frame against the door to the inner office, his arms crossed and a strange expression in his face.

“What?” Robin asked, confused.

He cocked one eyebrow at her.

“Are you playing with me, Ellacott?” he asked, in a mock-serious tone, despite the hint of a grin in the corner of his lips.

Robin frowned.

“Wha-Oh”, she said, realizing he had heard her conversation with Pat. “No, it’s—“

But he cut her, leaving the doorway and walking in her direction.

“ _A certain appeal_ , has he? So which way are you leaning, in regards to _‘thinking about it’_?”

Robin, noticing his playful tone, shaked her head, smiling.

“Stop being silly” she said with a little laugh, rolling her eyes.

“No” he said, standing now in front of Robin, who was resting against the kitchen counter. “I’m dead serious. Trying to make me jealous, are you?” he asked, arching his eyebrow.

“Don’t flatter yourself”, Robin snorted. “You _know_ I only said those things to get Pat off my back”.

“Really?” Strike asked, “Is it working, do you think?” he asked teasingly, putting his hands on either side of Robin in the counter.

“Well, obviously not” she responded. “I’m going to have to think of a different strategy to deal with her…” she said, frowning for a moment.

“I may have a couple ideas about that, actually” he said with a lopsided grin, before bending his head to kiss her.

A minute later, they broke apart suddenly, startled at the sound of the office door being open.

Pat, looking at one and the other of the disheveled and flushed partners, said, with a barely suppressed grin:

“Forgot my purse. Have a good weekend, you two” she added, with a suggestive tone, before turning and closing the door.

Strike and Robin stared at the closed door for a moment, before he turned to her.

“Well”, he said, with a tilt of his head, “problem solved.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my first lighthearted piece, I think-yay! Had fun writing this one.  
> also now that I'm thinking, the first established-relationship, as well (one thing goes with the other, am I right? haha)  
> hope you liked the little twist. :)  
> and I may have gone off on Pat's character, TB has so much going on...
> 
> ps. hey is there a way that the note of the first chapter doesn't appear in all of them? dunno what I'm doing wrong...


	4. “Don’t freak out” + “Is that even possible?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the events in TB, Strike and Robin have some things to discuss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I thought this one was going to be shorter than the others - oh well...
> 
> Beware, this one has ALL the spoilers for Troubled Blood's plot. ALL OF THEM.

Robin had just finished her turn of surveillance for the day, and being already past 5pm, was wondering whether she had anything to do at the office or could go directly home, when she got a text. Opening it, she saw it was from Strike.

**If you haven’t gone home yet, up for the Tottenham 6ish? Some things I wanted to discuss. S**

She felt her stomach drop, but before she could react or send him an anxious text, another one came that said:

**Don’t freak out. It’s good stuff. S x**

Feeling relieved, although not completely at ease ( _What good stuff?_ ), she headed for the tube and typed back,

**Okay. Curious. See you there. R x**

When she arrived at the Tottenham forty minutes later, she noticed to her surprise that Strike was already there, a pint and a glass of wine in his table. He waved at her.

“That’s a first”, she said, grinning, taking a sit.

“What?” he asked, frowning.

“You being early, obviously.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, well”, he said, shrugging. “Someone pointed out to me recently that I need to work on my punctuality.”

She smiled, feeling marginally less anxious.

“So”, she said, taking a sip of her wine. “You did freak me out, you know.”

Strike laughed.

“Yeah, I figured, sorry. That’s why I let you know – nothing to worry about. To celebrate, actually.”

“Okay…” she said, “celebrate what?” she asked, curious.

“Well”, said Strike, “your newfound ability to grant wishes, apparently.”

Robin’s eyebrows shot up.

“My—what?”

Strike laughed again and reached for his phone.

“Here”, Strike said, “you know I generally think everything the press says about us is bollocks, right?” Robin nodded, confused. “Right”, he continued, “but check this out.”

He handed her his phone, that was paused in a youtube video from the channel of a famous news network. Robin pressed play, and the journalist on the screen started speaking.

_Authorities have been surprised earlier this week by the uncovering of new evidence in not one, but two missing person cases attributed to notorious serial killer Dennis Creed. The location of two bodies, positively identified as Margot Bamborough and Louise Tucker, was uncovered by the well-known private detectives Cormoran Strike and Robin Ellacott. The dynamic duo—_

Robin’s head shot up, pausing the video.

“ _Dynamic duo?_ Is that a pun to my name?” she asked indignantly, raising her eyebrows.

“Continue”, Strike said, gesturing for her to return to the video, although when she did, he let out the grin he had been suppressing.

“— _succeeded where the police failed for 40 years. Not only that, but they were somehow able to solve both cases, despite been hired by Margot Bamborough’s daughter to solve the disappearance of her mother. The information about Louise Tucker’s location, surprisingly, came from Creed himself, who Strike was able to interview in what was his first external contact in over 30 years. Sources say the improbable authorization to speak to Creed was attained by the detectives with the help of an influent figure from the House of Commons. Whoever gave the green light, however, must surely be pleased with the results. Also in a shocking twist, the information on Margot Bamborough’s case resulted in the preventive arrest of a 73-year-old nurse, who is suspected to having killed not only Bamborough, but an unkown number of patients over the years. Authorities say inquiries have been opened. Whatever results from the investigations, one thing is for certain: after several notorious cases previously, this one definitely cements Strike and Ellacott’s reputations as the best private detective agency in London. For the full coverage, tune in to…”_

Robin stared at the screen, wondering whether she had understood right.

Looking up, she saw that Strike was studying her, a wide grin on his face.

“Did she really say _‘the best private detective agency in London’?”_ she asked.

“Yep”, Strike responded, still grinning.

Robin, to Strike’s surprise, frowned.

“Is that even possible?” she asked.

Strike raised his eyebrow.

“What is?”

“ _That_ ”, she said. “I mean, you’ve had the agency for, what… about four years?” she asked.

“More or less”, Strike confirmed.

“So”, Robin continued, “is it even _possible_ that after only that time we’re already considered the best agency in London?”

Strike, shrugging, said,

“I don’t know what to tell you. It’s the voice of the people” he said, grinning still.

Robin rolled her eyes.

“I’m _serious_ , Strike”, she said, frowning. “It’s just so…” she paused, unsure how to finish her sentence.

Strike was staring at her with an amused expression.

“Robin Ellacott”, he started in disbelief, “are you actually _disappointed_ that we got there so 'easily'?” he asked, although his expression showed he was actually finding it immensely funny.

Robin’s mouth fell open in indignation.

“I don’t—it’s not—oh, _bugger_ , Strike, you know that’s not—“

“Calm down, calm down, Ellacott” he said, laughing. “No reason to get worked up, I’m only teasing you”, he said, smiling, although he secretly wondered if that was, indeed, the case.

“Hm”, responded Robin, feeling placated. “So, anyway. I’m just wondering what it _really_ means, is all. _Is_ it realistic that we might have that reputation so soon? As in, is it going to stick? Or could it be a fleeting thing, because of the press’ interest in this case?”

Strike smiled, pleased with her question.

“Yeah. I wondered that myself. It’s why I wanted to talk to you. One of the reasons, anyway.”

“So”, said Robin, taking a sip of her wine, “what are your thoughts?”

Strike pondered for a moment.

“Well”, he said, “I’d say you’re right. It is unlikely for an agency to get that sort of reputation so soon” he said, and Robin felt disappointed. “However”, he continued, “It’s also pretty unlikely to solve five high profile, high stakes cases in the same amount of time, including the murder of a minister and catching not one, but _two_ serial killers, and finding evidence on a third – you do realize we actually solved all three of the remaining ‘Creed open cases’, right? I’d say the chances of all _that_ are even more remote, to be honest.”

Robin’s heart beat faster in her chest.

“So you’re saying…”

“I’m saying”, he said, “We did _bloody well_. _No_ ”, he corrected himself, shaking his head, “ _you_ did bloody well. You know I’d _never_ have gotten here without you. Not a chance in hell” he added, emphatically, and raised his glass.

Robin smiled, feeling deeply touched and elated at his words.

“Oh, Cormoran. You know that’s not true. _Everything_ I know I learned from you - because of you, and –“ her voice filled with emotion, she reached for his hand. Surprised, he looked at it, before returning his eyes to hers. “ _Thank you_ , Cormoran. I know I’ve said it before, but thank you, _really,_ for believing in me. Whatever I contributed to the agency’s success, I only did it because you gave me the chance. It’s your merit as well as mine”, she concluded, taking her hand back.

Strike smiled, looking at her fondly.

“Nothing to thank me for, Robin. No one will ever be more thankful for that than me. But I’m serious – I really want you to know I couldn’t have done it without you.” 

She blushed.

“Well, that’s why we’re partners. Neither couldn’t have done it without the other” she smiled.

Strike tilted his head.

“Yeah… I don’t know about that. You say ‘Let’s make the agency the best in London’, and little more than a year later, bam! There it is on the bloody papers”, he said, grinning and raising his eyebrow.

“Oh, _that’s_ what you were on about _‘granting wishes’_?” she asked, laughing.

“Yep. You really should explore your psychic abilities, you know”, he said, taking a sip of his beer.

“Only” said Robin, “You got that wrong, actually”.

He raised his eyebrow.

“How so?” he asked.

“See”, said Robin, “It was _me_ who said I wanted to make the agency the best in London. That makes me the wish-maker. If anything, the one _granting_ wishes is you” she said, raising her eyebrow.

Strike frowned, tilting his head, his hand rubbing the stubble in his jaw. Before he could say anything, however, Robin dissolved in a fit of giggles.

He frowned.

“What?”, he asked, confused.

After the moment it took her to recover from the mental image of Cormoran as some kind of bear-like fairy-godmother, and deciding that it was best not to tell him _that_ , she said, wiping tears of laughter from her face,

“Nothing – God, sorry. It’s nothing. Just, uh, remembered a funny thing Vanessa told me.”

Still suspicious but deciding to give her the benefit of the doubt, he said,

“Right. Well, okay Ellacott, you beat me there.”

“What?” she asked, still distracted.

“Your reasoning”, he said, “is correct. I am the wish granter, in that scenario.”

Suppressing another grin, she said, slowly,

“Okay… so…”

“So”, Strike said, “We arrived at the other thing I wanted to discuss. We need new plans, now, don’t we?”

“Huh”, said Robin, who hadn’t considered that. “You’re right, we do…” she said, thinking.

He cleared his throat.

“So tell, me Robin”, he said, and for some reason the air between them seemed different, charged. “We’re now the best agency in London. So now, what? As your pronounced wish-granter, I’ll try my best.” He said, smiling, and paused. Robin’s heart, to her surprise, was beating faster in her chest. In a low voice, Strike asked,

“What do you wish for, now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About the ending: sorry not sorry (okay, a little bit sorry)
> 
> So, if I got the dates wrong on Strike's agency and Creed, please correct me! It was more of a guess.  
> And obviously, I have no background writing journalism pieces, so that news report was the best I could manage hahah
> 
> Also, excuse my attempts at humour lol
> 
> Anyway, the bit in the end of TB about them being recognized as 'the most talented' in London also got my attention, for how well it corresponded with Robin's words to Strike in Lethal White. Figured they will need to update their plans now :)


	5. "Do you want me to stop?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As you may deduce from the title, this is a continuation from the last one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I didn't resist.

Robin wasn’t exactly sure what had happened - whether it was the high of their achievement and his words of pride, the recent developments in their relationship, or the fact that he had just asked, point blank, what is that she truly wanted. And the thing is, up until his question, she hadn’t been completely sure of what it was.

But the next thing she knew, she was kissing him – _and he was kissing her back._

_She. And. Cormoran. Kissing._

The reality of it hit and she broke apart from him, their faces still close together. She covered her mouth with her hand.

“Oh God, Cormoran – I’m sorry, I don’t know what—“

“I do”, he said, putting his hand behind her neck and kissing her again, for only a moment, before breaking it himself.

“Sorry, Robin, fuck” he said, panting. “I shouldn’t have—do you want me to stop?” he asked.

Robin paused for a tiny fraction, wondering whether she should say it. But they were here, already, weren’t they?

“I…don’t, actually”, she responded.

Strangely enough, that admission was what made them break apart enough to look at each other. For a moment they did just that, and then Strike asked, his voice serious,

“Do you mean it?”

“That… I don’t want you to stop?” Robin asked, confused.

“Yes”, Strike said, “but also… that this is truly something you want?”

Robin raised her eyebrow.

“Isn’t that clear now?” she asked, amused.

Strike grinned.

“I more or less gathered that when you jumped me, yes”.

“Oh, _you’re_ one to talk”, she responded, indignantly. “Like you didn’t do the same thing a second later”. She raised her eyebrow.

“Right”, said Strike, “but _I’m_ not denying it”.

A moment they looked at each other, and then broke into wide, identical smiles.

“So you really do, then?” he asked, fondly.

“I do”, she said quietly, tucking her hair behind her ear. “And you…?”

“Absolutely” said Strike, emphatically.

Robin smiled again.

“Funny, though”, she frowned, “I might not have been sure up until then”, she said. “But when you asked…”

Strike nodded.

“It was clear”, he said.

Robin’s eyes widened.

“Yes”, she said. “It was.”

Another beat.

“So”, said Strike, “different kind of plans now, I suppose, eh?”

“I don’t know”, said Robin, leaning towards him. “I think those can wait”.


	6. "Look away".

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin's housewarming party in LW.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying my hand at a drabble, a different setting in the series, aaand we're back at the angst.

Robin watches as Lorelai slips her hand into Strike's.

_They look close._

_Is it serious? How long has it been?_

_He hates it here as much as her._

_What must he think of me?_

_That’s ridiculous._

_They look happy..._

_Look away._

\--

Strike followed Robin with his eyes as she crossed the room, a plate of food in hand.

_Is she coming this way? (No.)_

_Avoiding me? Or is it normal, guests to entertain?_

_The other day, though… I thought…_

_Your bloody fault, anyway, ain’t it?_

_Is she happy?_

_Her hair was like this on her wedding day…_

_Look away._


	7. "Give me five minutes"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin being brilliant and Strike being amazed (as always).

Robin wasn’t supposed to be at a crowded bar with Strike at 11 p.m. that night.

By her schedule, she was supposed to be, probably, very comfortable at her bed right now.

However, a few minutes after Strike had arrived to release her of her shift, having climbed up the Land Rover for a brief catch up, they were surprised by the woman they were surveilling leaving her house in a car.

No other choice was left, then, but for both to follow her in the Land Rover, lest they lost track of her.

Right now, they were taking turns watching their target and the man that had joined her there. Unfortunately for them, their client wasn’t this time a suspicious spouse, but the woman’s employer who suspected her of insider trading, so the displays of affection they witnessed were completely useless.

“They look like they know each other, though”, said Robin. “It’s probably not a first date. This may prove useful if we find who he is”.

“Right” Strike said, sounding irritated.

Surprised, Robin turned to look at him, frowning.

“What is it?”

Strike sighed, watching the couple.

“You’re not supposed to be here. You’re exhausted”, he grunted.

“Oh, thanks for _that_ ”, she said sharply, but with a grin at the corner of her mouth.

Strike looked at her.

“You know what I mean”, he said impatiently. “I didn’t say you _look_ exhausted, I said you _are_ , which is a fact. You’ve been in the same shift for 10 hours, fuck’s sake”, he said, annoyed, turning again at their marks.

Robin smiled.

“It’s okay, Cormoran. I’m not that tired, honestly. And we didn’t have a choice”, she said, subtly shifting their positions so that she would be able to watch them instead.

“No it’s not _bloody okay_ ”, he looked at her. “You can’t keep doing this, it’s not fair. I already abuse your good will to much” he said, angry with himself. Sighing, continued, “I’m serious, just go home, Robin. I’ll continue from here”.

She turned her eyes to him for a moment.

“Right” she raised her eyebrow, “and if they split when they leave, you’ll do what? Divide yourself in two?” She chuckled and returned her eyes to the marks. “Didn’t know you had _that_ ability.”

“ _Funny_ ”, said Strike, ironically. “I’ll make a call about who to follow, and that’s that”, he said. “Probably him, I think” he said, frowning at the man.

“You _know_ we need to follow both”, Robin said gently. “But you’re right, we need at least to discover who he is…” she continued, distracted. The woman had left the bar stool she was sitting in and was directed to the bathroom.

She frowned, her brain working.

Watching her intently, Strike asked,

“What are you thinking?”

Robin looked at Strike and, tilting her head, she said, decidedly,

“Give me five minutes”, before taking off in the direction of the man.

“Wha-Robin!” Strike called, but she was already several steps far from him.

 _What on earth is she bloody doing_ , he thought, watching Robin chat up and laugh warmly at the man, although his annoyance stemmed more from her not sharing her plan with him than thinking that the plan, whatever it was, was a bad idea.

As the woman emerged from the bathroom, he saw Robin finish her chat with the man and go in his direction, a piece of paper in her hand. Signaling with her eyes for him to follow her, she passed straight up the place where he was, and stopped at a point ahead where they could keep watching, but the couple couldn’t see them.

“What was that about?” Strike asked when reaching her.

She flashed him a wide smile.

“So, I suppose if we had his contact, I could leave, you’d keep watching the woman, and everyone is happy, right?” she asked. “Well… everyone except them, of course.”

Strike frowned.

“Uh, yeah”, he said. “But how…”

Robin shook a paper that looked like it had a name and telephone number in it in front of his face.

Strike’s mouth fell open.

“How did you bloody pull that off?” he asked, in disbelief.

Robin shrugged.

“What you don’t know, can’t hurt you”, she said, grinning mischievously.

Strike looked livid.

“Fuck’s sake, Robin—“

“I’m only kidding, calm down!” she said, suppressing a laugh. “Honestly, Strike…” she said, shaking her head. “What do you think of me?” she asked, faking outrage.

Strike rubbed his forehead, cursing himself for being such an arse tonight.

“Fine, fine” he said. “You’re very funny tonight, aren’t you?” he asked, trying to tamper his bad mood. “Seriously, though”, he added, genuinely curious “how did you do that?”

Robin grinned again.

“So, I’ll admit I took a chance”, she started.

“Okay…”

“I walked up to him and said, _‘Oh my God!_ ’” she said, in a posh accent, _‘I can’t believe you’re here! I’m such a fan! I’m so sorry to bother you, but – could I get your autograph?’_ ”. She grinned.

Strike was speechless.

“Wha--how-“ he started, confused.

“Oh, I had a hunch, you know”, Robin said, shrugging, “He just had that _vibe_ \-- you know, the way men carry themselves when they’re full of it?”

Strike shook his head, still baffled, and now wondering whether he ever carried himself like that.

“Besides”, said Robin, with a smirk and a glint in her eyes, “I’d noticed he had black smudges in the tip of his fingers” she continued. “Didn’t see them up close, so _could_ be grease from a mechanic or something, but considering the choice of bar, his scarf and style of glasses, I thought a typewriter was a safe bet” she said, raising her eyebrow at Strike. “In other words, hipster writer, certain that he has hundreds of fans, you know the drill”, she concluded, looking pleased with herself.

Strike let out a deep breath, relieved both at finally getting her reasoning, as well as that Robin wasn’t now relying on slightly mystical hunches.

“That’s bloody brilliant, Robin”, he said, smiling widely at her, and she beamed at him. “But – is that a phone number I see there?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Strike, I swear, sometimes…” she said, shaking her head but grinning. He cocked one eyebrow at her.

“Fine”, she said, “ _that_ I didn’t anticipate. He asked me if I’d heard about his writing workshop” she said, with a smirk. “I said I didn’t, but would _love_ to participate, and asked for his phone number”, she shrugged.

He laughed.

“D’you think the workshop is real?” he asked.

“Probably not” she responded, smirking.

Strike looked at her for a long moment, a smile playing in his lips, before he caught himself.

“Right. Bloody well done, then.” He said, and paused. “So _now_ you’ll go home?”

She smiled.

“Yeah, I will. G’dnight” she said, and after a slight hesitation, raised herself by taking support on his arm and placed a quick kiss in his cheek. “Good luck” she added, smiling, and took off.

After a few steps, though, she turned again and, confirming her suspicion that he was still watching her, a weird expression in his face, she nodded towards the couple.

“Don’t forget it’s her you’re supposed to be watching, huh, Strike?” she said in an amused tone, raising her eyebrow, and turned to go again.

Startled and embarrassed, Strike shook his head to clear his thoughts and fumbled to return his attention to his marks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo probably a stretch on the deductions, but writing these casey things is hard, huh!


	8. "Is this really necessary?" + 2, 16, 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike's 40th is approaching, and he is not happy.
> 
> For prompts: "Is this really necessary?", "What's in it for me?", "Do you want some company?", "Does this help?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello,
> 
> Work and some other ideas that hijacked my brain made me get wayy behind in both writing and reading Striketober.
> 
> I still hope to do at least a few more, though, and I'll try to throw in more prompts each time so that I can do more of them, since I don't have the talent for doing drabbles and end up writing too much anyway. lol
> 
> This was intended as pure fun; hope you enjoy it!

Strike was studying the rota for next week on his computer.

“Robin” he started, with a calculated neutral tone. “Would you mind changing shifts with me on the weekend?”

Robin turned to him with an amused expression. She crossed her arms.

“ _Really_ , Strike?” she smirked.

“What?” 

She rolled her eyes.

“Do you really think I can’t see through that?” she raised her eyebrow.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”, he stared at her, putting on a blank face.

She snorted.

“Right”, she said. “Since you seem to think you can fool me. You want to work on Sunday night so you’ll have an excuse to escape whatever Ilsa and Lucy might be planning for your birthday”. She paused. “Honestly, Cormoran, is this really necessary?” she asked in disbelief. “It _is_ your 40th, after all”.

Strike didn’t even try to argue.

“Fine”, he sighed, raising his hands. “I didn’t really think you wouldn’t notice, by the way” he added. “I actually thought you might _cut me some slack_ , and pretend you didn’t” he said pointedly. “And, _yeah_ , it is necessary. Have you met Ilsa and Lucy? Moreover, have you met _me_?”

Robin’s eyebrows shot up.

“Really?” she asked, again. “You think I’m _that_ indulgent to your antics, Strike?” she shook her head humorously.

“Not _indulgent_ ” Strike said, a bit indignantly, “just, you know. Nice” he shrugged.

“Oh, I _am_ nice. _You don’t even know_.” She raised her eyebrows, smiling mischievously. “Unfortunately for you, since you apparently now disagree, you’ve just lost your chance to discover exactly how much, and exactly how wrong you are about _that_ , _too_ ”, she said, turning again to her computer, although with a smirk playing in the corner of her lips.

Strike stared at her, then something clicked in his brain.

“Wait, wait a minute, Robin. What else am I wrong about?” he asked, suspicious.

Robin merely grinned into her computer.

Strike rolled his eyes.

“Fuck’s sake, Ellacott. You’re not even going to answer me?” he asked, exasperated.

“Well, if you ask… _nicely_.”

He buried his face in his hands.

“God help me” he grunted.

“What was that?” she raised her eyebrow.

“I said”, he enunciated, “can you _please_ tell me what _else_ am I wrong about?” he made a not very convincing pleading face.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” Robin grinned at him. “You’re wrong about it being necessary to change the rota” she said, turning back to her computer.

He frowned.

“Why wouldn’t it be –“ he stopped in his tracks. Narrowing his eyes, he said in a calm voice, “Ellacott. Do you happen to know something?” he raised his eyebrow.

“I might” she responded, still looking at her screen and trying to contain the grin threatening to spread across her face.

Strike seemed almost at the limit of his patience.

“And could you _please_ tell me what it is?”

“Oh, Strike”, she finally turned at him. “I’m afraid that’s not gonna cut it this time”, she said, shaking her head. “Let’s make a deal. What’s in it for me?”

His eyebrows shot up.

“Are you serious?”

“No deal it is, then” she said, turning to her screen again.

“Takeout?” Strike said in a rush. “You choose, I’ll buy. For a… week?” he asked expectantly.

Robin rolled her eyes.

“That’s hardly a deal, Cormoran. We’ll probably get takeout anyway, and we always order the same”. She studied him. “Okay, I’ll propose a deal. I already told you that you don’t have to worry about Sunday night, right? So I’ll tell you what they are planning if you promise not to skip it.”

He frowned.

“What’s the point then?”

“The point is”, Robin said, “I’ll make sure you don’t miss either way. So wouldn’t you rather be prepared?” she raised her eyebrow.

Strike grunted in defeat.

Robin smiled at him.

“You don’t have to worry about Sunday, but… you’d better clear your schedule for Saturday.”

“Fuck’s sake” he said. “It’s a bloody surprise party, isn’t it?”

“Bingo. And you better act surprised, too, or else we’re both in deep trouble.”

“Yeah, fair point”, he said, begrudgingly. “So”, he added, “are you going to tell me anything else? What sort of hell am I in for, exactly?”

“Well”, said Robin. “I can’t give details. But I can tell you this: I’m helping them planning it...and I have veto power. Does this help?” she asked sincerely.

Strike sighed deeply.

“Immensely”, he said, and she blushed slightly. “Thanks”. He then frowned at her. “How did they convince you to come aboard, anyway?”

Robin turned again to her screen, her blush deepening.

“Oh, it was my idea.”

Strike stared at Robin, his eyebrows shooting up. A memory came back to him, of him and Robin having lunch in his last birthday, at the nice pub she’d had the trouble of looking up.

He’d heard someone singing _‘happy birthday’_ and thought she had arranged a surprise party to him, only to feel mortified when he realized that wasn’t the case - and that’d be a ridiculous idea, anyway, since no one in his life, including Charlotte, had ever done that for him.

He had, in fact, always been thankful for that, since surprise parties weren’t his idea of fun. Still, it was hard to reconcile this knowledge with the warm feeling now spreading in his chest at the idea of Robin proposing and organizing a surprise for him – although, what kind of surprise party, exactly, do you organize and then tell the person about?

“Your idea, huh?” he finally asked. “Why? And why you’re telling me all this, then?”

“Yeah, well”, started Robin, looking unsure of herself for the first time during their conversation, and still a little flushed. “I knew they wouldn’t let your 40th just go by. Thought if I prompted the idea, I might have some control over it, at least.”

Strike looked at her, admired. “And why did you tell me about it, then?” he asked quietly.

Robin fidgeted in her chair, stealing glances at him.

“To be honest”, she said, “It was my idea to tell you, from the beginning. I figured that way everybody would be happiest” she said, shrugging.

Strike looked at her for a long moment.

“Thank you, Robin” he said, sincerely, his voice low.

She smiled widely at him.

“So”, she then asked, forcing a casual tone, “what are your actual plans for Sunday night, then? Since you’ll have the night free”.

Strike rubbed his stub.

“Ah, you know me. The usual trifecta: Takeout, telly and a few pints”, he shrugged.

“Arsenal playing?” asked Robin.

“No, no game this Sunday. I was actually thinking about catching up on the dvd you gave me last year. The only time I watched I was way too knackered to appreciate it” he made a face remembering that lousy Christmas.

“Oh”, said Robin, before pausing for a moment. Seeming to make a decision, she continued, slowly, “You know, I’ve wanting to see what the deal with Tom Waits is, myself. Would you… Do you want some company?” she looked at him expectantly.

Strike smiled broadly at her.

“That’d be great, Robin” he said. “I can start to repay you those takeouts”.

She frowned.

“I don’t think we settled on that” she said, confused.

“No”, Strike said, “But I gather you deserve it” he said, winking at her. She flushed again, smiling at him. Strike, however, suddenly frowned.

“Wait” he said, “But don’t you have a shift Sunday night?” he said, looking at the rota again. “Yeah, I see it here”.

Robin, to Strike’s surprised, giggled.

“I don’t, actually. Sam does.”

He stared at her, confused.

“That in your screen is a dummy rota me and Sam created, to divert you” she said, turning to her computer, not even pretending, however, to hide the grin in her face.

Strike looked at her, his eyebrows raised, a smile playing in his lips, wondering whether Robin had left her own Sunday night free on purpose, and just when, exactly, he had stopped being bothered by surprise parties and fake rotas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Admittedly, like I said this was more concerned with fun than character accuracy, hope I managed to achieve it (the fun) XD  
> Trying to train this lightheartedness muscle.


	9. "I'm scared" + 9, 11, 13, 19, 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This continues from the last one, and was written for prompts "I'm scared", "I have to do this", "Is everything okay?", "Who told you that?", "Don't lie to me", "What time is it?"
> 
> It's Strike's 40th, and Robin is coming over to watch Tom Waits's "No visitors after midnight" concert (the one she gifted him).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, 
> 
> Although I already cut a fic from here because it got too long, and this one is even longer, since it continues from last chapter and I managed to put some other prompts, right here it goes. (Also, I knew it would be long from the go lol).
> 
> This is a very musical, or rather, musically-themed story. They listen to music, talk about it, etc.  
> I liked the idea of writing Strike's birthday as I'd imagined it, and when I started looking into Tom Waits, well... let's say I found some interesting ideas, you'll see!
> 
> This is probably the first bit of actual research I did for fics lol since I actually structured the whole story around the show (which is on youtube, by the way), and also sprinkled a lot (a LOT) of lyrics into it.
> 
> However, there's really only two songs that I would really suggest you listen to while reading, which are the last two: San Diego Serenade and the next one, which I won't name here but that you can find by searching for the first line of the lyrics.
> 
> Anyway... hope you enjoy (and that you like a good slow burn)!

Strike had spent the actual day of his 40th birthday feeling, he considered, unnecessarily nervous. Somehow he was even more anxious than he’d been on Robin’s 30th, when he’d put on suit and tie and taken her to buy perfume and have champagne at The Ritz.

He sensed this nervousness might have to do with the fact that he would be spending the evening with Robin. Alone. In his flat.

He had, uncharacteristically, changed clothes twice already (when had he ever done that?), before settling on a blue, crisp shirt and dark pants. He’d also spent a considerable amount of time trying to decide whether or not to shave, the memory of a comment made by Robin tugging at him, before finally deciding that appearing with a stub might look slouchy, and settling on doing it and applying his lavender aftershave.

He’d already ordered their curry and was sitting in his chair, a glass of whiskey in his hand, trying to compose himself before Robin’s arrival. He’d also put on some music, which at the moment wasn’t being particularly helpful --

_Heard that tune, and now I’m pining, honey, can’t you see?_

_‘Cause every time I hear that melody, well, something breaks inside_

\-- when he heard the knock in the door.

“Hi”, said Robin with a nervous smile when he opened the door. The first thing he noticed was that she was carrying what looked like a cake. “Happy birthday”, she said, giving him a quick hug and placing a kiss in his cheek.

“Thanks, Robin”, he said, gesturing for her to enter. “What’ve you got there?” he flicked his eyes towards the package, which she was now putting on his kitchen table.

She rolled her eyes.

“Honestly, Strike. Already eyeing the food?” She asked, shaking her head, and he chuckled. “I figured you’d take care of food and drinks, so I decided to take care of dessert.” She smiled. “Brought cake, considering it’s, you know. Your birthday. Didn’t tell you beforehand but figured you wouldn’t mind” she raised her eyebrow.

“You know me so well, Ellacott” he smiled. Having now had a chance to properly look at her, he noticed that she was wearing the same gray dress she had worn on her housewarming party. A curious feeling took hold of his chest, upon considering how he’d felt at that night and how different the situation was, now. “You look beautiful” he said quietly, and her eyes widened a fraction, followed by a slight blush in her cheeks.

“Thanks. You too look… sharp” she said, shyly.

He smiled.

“Wine?” he asked, going to the fridge.

“Sure, thanks”, said Robin. She knew Strike didn’t usually drank wine and felt a bit touched that he had probably bought it just for her.

He handed her the glass he’d poured and guided her to sit in the living room.

“I, uh, already ordered”, he said. “Curry. Didn’t think you’d mind, as well” he looked at her as if asking confirmation.

“It’s okay, thanks. You _probably_ got my order right, anyway”, she said, grinning. “So, last night wasn’t a _total_ disaster, was it?” she asked, taking a sip of her wine.

He chuckled.

“Eh, I mean…” he said, and she shot him an annoyed look. He grinned. “I’m kidding, Robin. You’re right, it really wasn’t. You did a bloody good job of keeping things within a safe margin of reasonable.” He paused. “Thank you for doing all that, really”, he said, looking intently at her.

“Oh, it was nothing”, she said. “Self-interest, really. If I’d let Ilsa and Lucy have their way, they’d have you complaining for the night, whereas I’d have to endure you being grumpy for the whole week”.

Strike laughed heartily.

“Fair point” he said, “Although you’re probably being generous there, with _week._ ”

“Of course I am”, said Robin into her cup of wine, and he grinned.

“But yeah, it was okay. Cake always helps, too.”

“Glad I brought some tonight then”, she raised her eyebrows.

“Always appreciate it”, he said. “But for tonight… it wasn’t really necessary”.

They looked at each other for a moment, until Robin broke the silence.

“Is that Tom Waits?” she asked, paying attention to the music.

“Yeah”, Strike said, “his first album.”

“The show we’re going to watch is from that tour?”

Strike had momentarily forgot about the dvd they were supposed to be watching.

“I think there’s one song from it in the show”, he said slowly. “But mostly, it’s from later works”.

“You’re really a big fan, then?” she eyed him. She’d never really pictured him as being a _big fan_ of anyone.

“I guess…” he considered, tilting his head. “They don’t make artists like him, anymore, really” he said, taking a sip of his whiskey.

“Yeah…You’re really all for the old-fashioned way, aren’t you, Strike?” Robin said with a hint of fondness. “Old classics, cds, pen and paper… that sort of thing.”

Strike chuckled.

“’Suppose I am. Anachronistic kind of man, I guess” he said, shrugging.

Robin smiled.

“Well. It suits you, I think”, she said, a hint of a blush in her cheeks.

“Yeah, you think?” She nodded. “Cheers”, he said a bit smugly, raising his glass.

Robin took a sip of her wine, silently. She suddenly looked like she was struggling to make a decision.

“Um, speaking of which”, she started slowly, reaching to her bag to fetch something, her blush deepening. Strike watched her, curious. She got a small square package in wrapping paper.

“This is for you”.

Strike’s eyebrows shot up.

“You already gave me a gift yesterday”, he said, reaching for the package.

“Oh, you didn’t really think I’d give you the all too imaginative gift of a sweater, did you?” She raised her eyebrow.

He frowned.

“But then why…”

“Since your birthday was actually today, I didn’t want to show up empty handed”, she explained. “Besides, it’s probably for the best that I let to give you this today…” she added to herself in a quiet voice.

Opening first the card, he read,

**_Cormoran,_ **

**_I wish you all the happiness you deserve -- which means, every bit there is._ **

**_Love,_ **

**_Robin x_ **

**_P.S. Thought I’d give you something that I like, for change._ **

Curious, Strike then opened the package and stared silently at Joni Mitchell’s album _Blue_.

Robin felt suddenly nervous. Seeing as he’d already read the card, she said, “I mean, obviously, I thought you’d like it, as well...” sounding a bit unsure.

“I didn’t know you were into Joni Mitchell” was all that he said, still staring at the cd cover.

“I wasn’t, until recently”, Robin answered.

He frowned, looking up at her.

“Joni Mitchell…Why does that sound familiar?”

Robin smiled.

“It should. It was during the Bamborough case. Oonagh said Margot was obsessed with _Court and Spark_ , said Mitchell was like, her religion. So I decided to try it and see if I’d get a better sense of who she was.”

“You did, did you?” Strike asked, seeming impressed.

“Yeah”, said Robin. “And it really helped, you know. It’s not everyone that would like that kind of music so much.”

“No… it’s really not”, said Strike, slowly. “You liked it, though?” he asked, a smile in the corner of his lips.

“Well, not at first” said Robin, taking a sip of wine. “I found it really… strange, at first. Unlike anything I’d ever heard. But then…”

“It kind of grew on you?”

“Exactly. Became kind of obsessed with her myself, to be honest…” She paused. “Wait, you don’t already own the album, do you?”

“No, I don’t”.

“But you’ve heard it?”

Strike didn’t respond, looking at her gift and trying to untangle the web of emotions he was now feeling.

He’d been surprised at the intimacy suggested by her feeling comfortable enough to gift him something that _she_ liked… and not at all in an unpleasant way. In fact, the idea actually pleased him very much.

He was, however, considering the reasons behind Robin’s particular choice. He had the impression it was Mitchell’s most famous album, but still, the coincidence of his name felt too big for him to ignore.

He was, of course, familiar, if not with the whole album, at least with its titular song, even if he didn’t remember much of it. For a man born in the 70s and graced with the middle name he had, it would be hard not to. He could remember at least a couple of times where someone had mentioned it to him for that reason.

Surprisingly, neither of them had been Charlotte, though, despite the nickname she’d used for him. Strike had no doubts as to why that was. Having a level of possessiveness and jealousy that extended even towards Strike’s admiration of people such as celebrities, he was sure she would not concede to use the words of another woman to express her feelings.

Robin, however…

A curious feeling took hold of him, attached to the memory he knew was being made right in this moment -- that of Robin showing her affection towards him by alluding to a name that he for so long had refused to acknowledge, for it was tainted with the pain associated with Charlotte.

He felt as though Robin had just made a claim to this remaining part of him, just as she had done before - first by calling him Cormoran, which few people actually did, and then by intimately calling him Strike when she was mad, or for banter. He felt strongly that somehow, the piece of plastic in his hand was enough to grant him freedom from perhaps the last bit of Charlotte’s hold over him, and was overwhelmed with a sudden sense of relief.

Despite the lightness he felt, some of these thoughts must have showed in his features, for Robin, disconcerted with his silence, felt her stomach drop at the idea that just now occurred to her.

“Oh, God, Cormoran” she said, horrified, taking her hands to her mouth. “I’m so sorry, I should have realized that for you it might already have a… different meaning…” she didn’t finish.

At that, Strike’s head snapped up.

“What? Oh, no, no, Robin. Not at all.”

Robin had a mortified look in her face.

“Don’t lie to me”, she said, shaking her head. In a quieter tone, she added, “Oh God, I can’t believe I didn’t… you hate it, don’t you?”

“Hate it? Absolutely not, Robin. I promise you, okay? It’s… it’s perfect”, he said sincerely. “Actually, in a way, you’ve… just given me my freedom back”, he said, looking incredulous at the album again. Before she could question what he’d meant, he stood up and, to her surprise, planted a kiss on her cheek. “Thank you, Robin”, he said, his low voice near her ear. Then, going to the tv, he turned to her and asked, before pressing play on the dvd, “Shall we?”

Dazzled, she simply nodded.

The recording started with a show recorded in London, and Tom Waits’ figure, in a suit and fedora, appeared up close in front of a piano. He played a few notes before taking a drag at his cigarette, and only after setting it aside, his deep, throaty voice was heard.

“Oh wow”, said Robin. “His voice”. She looked at Strike. “It sounds different than the cd we were listening, right?”

“Yeah”, Strike nodded. “It changed a lot over the years. Whiskey and cigarettes, probably, although some people argue that it’s a stylistic choice”.

“Huh. I mean, it’s beautiful. But it kind of sounds like it was left in a smokehouse for a week.”

Strike let out a laugh from deep in his belly.

“You know, actually, I think someone once described his voice like that.”

Robin eyed him.

“Whiskey and cigarettes, huh?” she asked. “So is that your end goal? I mean, I’ve heard you sing and it’s not too bad, but I figure it’s a bit late for a career change, Strike.”

He laughed heartily again.

“Yeah”, he said, “Probably not the wisest move for me, a career in music, either”, he said, raising his eyebrows, and Robin was suddenly reminded of his father. But he smiled warmly towards her, so she smiled too, before adding,

“Oh, and he’s entertaining, too”, since the singer had now launched into a quippy monologue about clothing stores being opened at odd hours.

“Absolutely”, Strike said, nodding. “I hear there’s a lot of that kind of stuff in this show”.

He looked intently at the screen, with what appeared such a genuine interest that Robin couldn’t help but be endeared.

She fell silent, unwilling to disrupt Strike’s experience, and spent the next half an hour or so torn between watching the musician, which honestly looked really interesting – not the least bit because of what it allowed her to see into Strike’s preferences – and her completely absorbed, completely endearing partner.

Strike’s thoughts, however, were actually more concerned with not letting Robin realize how little he actually was managing to pay attention to the telly, what with the thoughts of her gift and her very distracting presence in his living room filling his mind and senses.

Approaching the end of a song presented in a very soulful and performatic manner, which Robin suspected was the kind of stuff Strike had been expecting, there was a buzz indicating that their curry had arrived.

Since Strike’s leg had been a bit bad that week, Robin offered to fetch it, and he took the opportunity to try and regain his grip, which he sensed he was losing by the minute.

He wondered whether he should be regretting their choice of activity, unsure of which option seemed to be safer in Robin’s company: the atmospheric and heartfelt music or the silence that usually preceded dangerous conversations…

Feeling that perhaps neither option was particularly safe right now, he paused the show and put on his radio the album that Robin had given him, thinking that it was also a way of showing him he had appreciated the gift.

Curiosity got the better of him, though, and he skipped directly to the titular song, before going to set the table for their dinner.

He immediately found the music to be really beautiful, a sophisticated melody on the piano accompanied by Mitchell’s gorgeous voice, which was now telling him,

_Blue_

_Songs are like tattoos_

_You know I’ve been to sea before_

_Crown and anchor me_

_Or let me sail away_

It also wasn’t all that different from the style of music he usually went for, and he realized with a smile that Robin really did know him well.

It occurred to him how the combination of subtleness and strength in the song actually reminded him of her. He was thinking that he could indeed envision himself listening to this album quite a bit in the future, when he heard the lyrics towards the end of the song.

_Blue_

_I love you_

He startled, turning to the radio as if looking at it could somehow illuminate the meaning of the words.

He wondered, again and with renewed focus, why exactly Robin had chosen this album to gift him. Torn in his ever overanalyzing of her actions, Strike couldn’t decide whether the idea of it having a deeper meaning was too on the nose, which would be uncharacteristic for her, or too subtle, which perhaps indicated that he was reading too much into it.

He could hear her coming on the stairs. Thinking on his feet, he decided he didn’t want her to realize what he’d just been listening to, worried it might in any way make her uncomfortable. Hurriedly, he exchanged the album for the one that had been playing before, and, on second thought, muted it and unpaused the dvd, just in time for Robin to open the door.

She smiled at him, and he felt his heart ache.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, frowning at his expression.

He smiled.

“Perfect”.

They sat to eat in the small kitchen table, while on the tv a show recorded in Chicago was now playing, the singer this time in a beret hat and lose tie, his crooning voice just as striking.

_You're lyin' through your pain, babe  
But you're gonna tell him he's your man  
And you ain't got the courage to leave_

_He tells you that you're on his mind  
You're the only one he's ever gonna find  
It's kind-a special, understands his complicated soul_

Despite the easy flow of conversation with stories of childhood birthdays, and despite how much they were enjoying the evening, something felt different from their usual interactions. Instead of the content and companionable atmosphere they were used to, the air now seemed charged with an exhilarating quality and heavy with the weight of things unsaid.

As the music changed from an uptempo song accompanied by quick finger snaps to a slower melody in the piano, Strike, who had been absorbed in his conversation with Robin, suddenly glimpsed at the telly and asked her, curious,

“So, what do you think?” nodding in the direction of the tv.

Resting her glass of wine in the table, Robin said,

“Oh, I think he’s brilliant, and really...authentic, you know? I can see why you like it so much.”

“Authentic, yeah”, said Strike. “That’s a good definition. I think that’s what special about artists like him… and Joni Mitchell. They’re unapologetically themselves.”

Robin nodded, smiling, and then paused, studying him.

“It also really builds on your whole vibe, you know”, she said. “His broodiness, smoking habit, jokes about crime… it’s exactly the kind of music anyone would guess you’d listen to, you know.”

Strike laughed.

“Appreciate it, but hope I’m not that predictable for everybody else.”

“It’s okay that you are to me, though?” She raised her eyebrow.

“What can I say”, Strike shrugged. “There’s not really a lot you can hide from the best detective in London” he said, even though he certainly hoped there was.

Robin beamed at him, and then turned to the tv.

“He has a feeling of… sadness, or tragedy, about him, though” she frowned. “Doesn’t seem like he’s had much of a happy life”.

Strike pondered that.

“Yeah, you’re right”, he said. “That level of artistry only thrives in tragedy, I suppose”.

Robin looked intently at Strike for a moment.

“Are _you_ a happy man, Cormoran?” she asked quietly.

Startled by the sudden question, he took a sip of his drink so that he could have time to consider it, before responding,

“Well, Robin…Can’t say that I haven’t had a fair share of tragedy in my life, in many accounts, and that, I suppose, is something that never really leaves you. And of course, there’s always something that you find missing… But when I look at my life right now, to be honest…” He paused, looking at her. “I really believe I am.”

Robin smiled. Taking a sip of her wine, she asked, casually,

“And what is it that you find missing?”

Taken by surprise by the look of sadness and… was it longing?... that she saw in his eyes, Robin quite immediately regretted her question.

Strike knew he had let something of the truth show when Robin’s eyes widened a fraction and she eagerly changed the subject -- to his surprise, with a snort.

“Yeah, I can definitely why you like his music”, she joked in a gentle tone, desperately casting for something to erase whatever she’d seen in his eyes.

Strike frowned, taking a confused moment to realize she was referring to the song that had just started in the video, _“Better off without a Wife”_ , where Waits praised the benefits of singledom.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Well” said Robin, “I suppose you’re not much in favor of marriage, are you?”

“Who told you that?”

Robin frowned.

“I mean…” she started, suddenly embarrassed.

“You know, Waits is married, himself”.

Robin’s eyebrows shot up.

“Is he really?” she looked at the crooner on the screen. “Really wouldn’t guess. He has that vibe of a _‘player’_ , you know… like women are always throwing themselves at him.”

“Yeah? The brooding appeal works for him, you think?” he asked with a smirk. “That’s funny. Most women might be put off by the smoking, I think.” He raised his eyebrow. Robin, who had been watching the tv, didn’t look at him, a scarlet color slowly crepting up her neck. Strike continued, “But you’re right that used to be my general attitude about marriage. Had some interesting observations made to me recently, though, that may have made me reconsider it.”

Robin’s eyes widened, turning to him.

“Really?” she asked. “Was it Nick?”

“Surprisingly… it was Dave Polworth, actually” Strike said with a grin.

Robin snorted.

“You’re kidding”, she said, having recently met Strike’s oldest mate when he was in town.

“I’m really not”, he said, “And I’ll raise you one: his argument involved Russian literature.”

“Now you’re just making things up.”

Strike grinned.

“You’d think, right? Sometimes people surprise you. But yeah… really made me think”.

Curious about which so compelling argument could possibly have been made by Dave Polworth, but not really wanting to pry, Robin said simply,

“It’s true. Perhaps you too are not that predictable, Strike.”

He smiled at her, and then turned to the tv.

“And of course” he said in a low voice, still not looking at her, “There’s always the matter of the right person”.

Robin’s eyes widened, but before she could reply, he turned to her and asked,

“Time for cake?”

Holding generous helpings of cake, they returned to the living room to finish watching the show. Tom Waits, standing alone in what looked like a staging of a bar, was finishing a song that was actually a spoken-word monologue.

_And I've been looking for some kind of an emotional investment_

_With romantic dividends_

_Yeah, kind of a physical negotiation is underway_

_As I attempt to consolidate all my missed weekly rendezvous_

_Into one low monthly payment, through the nose_

_With romantic residuals and legs akimbo_

_But the chances are that more than likely_

_Standing underneath a moon holding water_

_I'll probably be held over for another_

_Smashed weekend_

_Same here, Tom_ , Strike thought, risking a glance at Robin, who was decidedly looking at the screen.

The musician then introduced the next song with humorous words that got genuine laughs out of the audience, which helped clear the air between the partners -- a futile accomplishment, however, since the closing piece of the show, _San Diego Serenade,_ was a heartfelt piano ballad that Robin thought was probably her favorite from the songs she’d listened that night.

“Oh, this one’s beautiful” she said, while the musician sang,

_Never saw the white line till I was leavin' you behind_ _  
Never knew I needed you till I was caught up in a bind  
And I never spoke I love you till I cursed you in vain  
Never felt my heart strings until I nearly went insane_

“Yeah”, Strike said, sighing. “I like this one, too”.

They stayed in silence for the remainder of the song, the air between them heavy with all the things that filled them to them brim and were threatening to escape, and watched silently as with final strokes on the ivory keys, he ended the song, got up and the screen faded to black.

“That was beautiful”, finally said Robin, feeling a bit emotional. Turning to Strike, she added, “Thanks for showing it to me. I loved it”.

Strike shook his head.

“Thank _you_ , Robin. I’d watched it before… never with better company, though”, he said in a low, fond voice. They looked at each other for a long moment, until Robin got quickly to her feet, gathering their dessert plates and taking them to the kitchen.

The newfound silence suddenly seemed too much for Strike, who was feeling seriously out of balance. He unmuted the cd they had been listening before, a choice that he immediately regretted when he realized which song had just started playing.

_One, two, three, four…_

Robin, who was cleaning the dishes, her back to him, currently felt no small amount of regret that the evening was probably coming to an end, and was trying to come up with some reasonable excuse to extend it a bit longer. Thinking that they could probably have left the cake for after the show ended, she asked,

“What time is it, Cormoran? Too late for coffee, do you think?”

When he didn’t answer, she turned, only to find him looking at her with an expression she didn’t think she’d ever seen before. At the same time, the first words of a different song registered in her brain.

_Well I hope that I don't fall in love with you_ _  
'Cause falling in love just makes me blue_

_Well the music plays and you display  
Your heart for me to see_

And in that moment, searching his gaze, she knew. She just knew, with absolute certainty, that the possibility she had hardly let herself consider was indeed the purest, undiluted truth.

“Cormoran…” she started, in the quietest of voices.

To Robin’s surprise, he simply extended a hand in her direction, a question in his eyes.

Walking to him, she took it, putting her other hand on his chest, and feeling him rest one on the small of her back.

In silence, they swayed to the music, absorbed in their closeness and the enormity of the moment.

“You never told me” said Robin, desperate to let him know, too, in some way, “if you’ve heard _Blue_ before.”

Strike felt like he was barely breathing. He wasn’t entirely sure whether Robin was asking about the album or the song, but sensed perhaps she wasn’t actually asking about either.

“I have”, he responded in a low voice, and she nodded against his chest. “Why did you give it to me, Robin?”

She was silent for a moment.

“If you’ve heard it… You really should know, by now, Cormoran”, she said in a soft voice.

He sighed.

“I just… can’t believe it’s true”.

“I would never lie to you, though”, Robin said. “You know that.”

It was his turn to nod, his chin resting in her head. She continued,

“Then you must know it’s the truest thing I have, Cormoran”.

He did know, in that moment. He could feel it. And the responsibility of having that place in her heart terrified him.

“I’m scared, Robin”, he admitted, his voice trembling a bit.

She nodded again.

“I know”, she said softly, and raised her head to look him in the eyes. “This is why, I think… I have to do this”.

Then, closing the distance between them, she softly placed her lips on his, just as the singer delivered the songs’ final lyric…

_And I think that I just fell in love with you_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a couple of notes:
> 
> I noticed that twice now Robin realized something really important about Matthew (which is ultimately someone she knows really well) just by looking at him (honestly, that pregnancy guess in TB felt a bit psychic), and wondered whether it could be foreshadowing, for instance, of she finding about Strike's feelings. What do you think?
> 
> I seriously debated about Robin's gift, because I thought it might be a bit of a risqué move for her, and also because I couldn't remember whether she knew Charlotte's nickname for Strike, and I felt strongly that if she'd known, she wouldn't have given him the album. However, I liked the idea of 'erasing' Charlotte's claim on Strike's middle name, so I kept it.  
> (By the way, this is also my bet that the album Blue will feature in some way on later novels. Too much of a coincidence, isn't it?)
> 
> I know it probably got a bit convoluted with all the pausing/unpausing cds and dvds, but 1) I needed for Strike to listen to the song lol and 2) Once I found that last song, it felt too perfect not to use it - however, it wasn't on the show Robin gave him. So I had to find some other way hahaha
> 
> Finally, if anyone wants to do another take on this setting, I'd be curious to read it, because I found that Tom Waits' music has a lot of potential and if there's one thing I suck at is atmosphere lol
> 
> And I'll probably not be able to finish the prompts, unless I sprint something tomorrow, but either way, I kind of like ending this one here. Had a blast doing it with you guys (and looking forward to catching up on yours!)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
